


the last night you'll get up on it

by andathousandyearsmore



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 20 Questions, Bisexual Tony Stark, Coming Out, Dancing, Gay Steve Rogers, Gen, Hit Drop Go, M/M, Mentions of Prostitution, Unhappy Ending, dialogue-heavy, ladies and gentlemen welcome to my area of specialty: angsty endings, only at the end though, this fic is not for you if you're looking for some character bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:17:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andathousandyearsmore/pseuds/andathousandyearsmore
Summary: Steve and Tonyhateeach other. It's a proven fact. Rogers is friendly to everyone but Tony, and Tony pretty much gets along and likes everyone but Rogers. Everyone knows this. Everyone also is waiting for them to get over it and make nice.Yeah, right.





	the last night you'll get up on it

**Author's Note:**

> To the marvel-ous Mehra, who had requested a fic with Steve being gay and completely shameless about it (while also being closeted to the world), a Tony POV, and a disreputable bar. I don't know if I did any of it justice, especially the 'disreputable bar' but hey! It's fine. 
> 
> To the wonderful Will, who had requested a party scene fic with Steve looking v hot. 
> 
> I can't ever believe I thought this would be a 3K fic.
> 
> ❤️

They think he's wrapped up in his own world. They think he doesn't notice things as much as the rest of them, because he's always thinking in his own head. They think he doesn't care. They think that he can't put two and two together when it comes to people and small, hidden details. They aren't entirely wrong, but they aren't entirely right, either. Half the time, he's all dulled senses and enhanced engineering functions but the other half, he's all alert senses and enhanced thinking. With a few people, he's pays attention all the time, because they deserve him at his best, and so much more than he can give them. He tries to pay attention, and he, he hasn't really messed it up much yet, so something must be going right, right?

On that list, there are Rhodey, Mama Rhodes (and literally any member of the Rhodes clan), Pepper, and his therapist. That list used to hold Edwin Jarvis, Ana Jarvis, Yinsen, and O- _Stane_ , but, well, there's only three people on there he wishes could still be on there (and for that matter, also alive). That list, he thinks, may soon be expanded to hold a fifth person. Even if said fifth person doesn't even realize that they're on it. Mainly because they aren't here, at the tower, more often than not. 

Steven Grant Rogers, unlike everyone else on the list, has earned his spot not because Tony likes/respects/cares about him, per se, but because he's fucking Captain America and a guy who is very, very hard to impress—and Tony wants to impress him just once. He's not proud of the reasoning behind it. He doesn't mention this to his therapist, either, because she'd go into a round of daddy issues and self-worth issues. And probably everything else that's wrong with him. But whatever. Tony doesn't _truly_  care. 

Oh, he hasn't lied to himself like this for _years_.

Really, the man is an insufferable, nonagenarian, self-sanctimonious dickhead who has a stick shoved so far up his ass that x-rays probably think he has two spines. Steven Grant Rogers? He's more like Steve 'Goddamnit' Rogers. Fucking jerk. Can't take a single joke, can't accept any kind of an invitation to live at the Tower, can't do anything but yell at Tony; that's who Rogers is. Of course, he's got America and the entire fucking world wrapped around his pinky finger and has them all believing that he's some bastion of apple pie, kindness, and cat-saving goodness. Rogers is a rude, old-fashioned prick, and Tony knows that no one is going to believe him. 

Strangely enough, the team (even Natasha and _Fury_ ) loves Rogers, and think he's completely adorable. Pepper—Tony still can't believe she betrayed him—likes Steve enough that they go out to art museums whenever there's a new exhibit at one of them. Even Hill, the poster girl for glares and not cracking a single smile, has been caught smiling or smirking at Steve. _Hill_. And he can't even get started on his best friend, and every single military type who trip themselves up over Rogers. The asshole even knows it, that the military idolizes him, and plays a little game with every higher-than-a-captain officer. Rogers always waits for them to realize that they outrank Captain America, and then has them practically apologizing to his feet, even though they have no reason to. 

The press and absolutely no one has a word against Captain America. Well, besides neo-Nazis, but they're also neo-Nazis. Tony's not about to go and get himself called that by calling Rogers a dick. Hell no. Even, strangely enough, villains have no actual bad things to say about Rogers. They just want to defeat him and brag. Tony's not going to be the one tells them that Steve's like a spring; he'll never not pop back up. Even if it's annoying, and even if it's seven decades later. 

The man is punctual and planned and prepared and perfect and quick-thinking and responsive and responsible and reliable and strategic and serious and everything else that falls in that basket of a perfect soldier. Fury loves him, especially since he shows up to every single meeting/debriefing and actually does his paperwork, extensively. He doesn't miss a single work-related details and really doesn't stop working. On the rare occasion he's not working, Rogers is seemingly moping in SHIELD-assigned apartment that's incredibly pathetic.

At least, this is what Tony tells himself when he's sitting in a mission briefing room with everyone else while Fury is yelling at the man about where Rogers is. Apparently he's not responding to his phone, and someone (Tony) has removed all of SHEILD's trackers so they can't even place him. For the first time, Rogers isn't here with a call to fight. Tony would be smirking and cracking jokes if it weren't for the fact that Fury had just ordered them to go find Rogers and bring him here to HQ. Though, picturing the dressing down Rogers was going to get after it was worth the yelling. 

The joke is also slightly on SHIELD. He has his own trackers on Rogers's devices, because he's not ever going to be responsible for losing America's favorite golden man. All he has to do is open up a locating app and he knows where Steve is. So he does just that while Fury is yelling, passing it off as playing a game on his phone. The locator takes just under a minute to find him, and Tony almost drops his phone in surprise. According to his phone, Rogers is at a bar that Tony is familiar with. A gay bar, to be much more exact, and not even the most reputable of places. Tony knows it because it's the last place anyone would expect him, a playboy billionaire, to be when he wants a causal drink. 

The question remains on why Rogers would be at it, since nothing about a gay bar would go along with his old constitution. 

So he actually opens up a mindless bubble game on his phone and waits for Fury to be done yelling. He bolts out of there, which isn't exactly uncommon behavior, and then heads into his car. This, he has to check for himself, because it's surreal enough he can't fully grasp it.

He can't also believe that there's a chance that his tracker and app system is wrong, though. It's impossible to think. He just thinks that Rogers being actually at End Line is harder to believe. So he drives, and he's grateful he never brings anything but the cheapest-looking cars to SHIELD on days where he has new missions with the team. The rich and the vanilla get eaten for breakfast at a place like End Line, so virginal Steve Rogers doesn't even has a chance. 

Steping onto the relatively clean floors of the entrance—that he knows get dirtier the farther in the bar someone goes—Tony is instantly caught by the smell of cheap, watered-down beer and sex. He glances at the musty wooden walls that enclose the bar, save for the chipped stone and metal one behind the bartenders, and then the unflattering golden lights that everyone knows used to be white. There’s something on the edges of the only two free stools that he isn’t sure is blood or not. Sometimes, he wonders how this place still manages to escape health safety, and then the owner of this place always pops into his mind. Talk about a manipulative, charming bastard.

No one registers who he is here, and if they do, they don’t care. At all. It’s pretty refreshing, actually, and today’s been the kind of day he’d love to drink here, but unfortunately, he’s on a  mission, no matter how self-imposed. The bartender takes one good look at him and probably jumps to the conclusion that like a few of the non-regulars here, he’s a higher middle class, middle-aged man with a midlife crisis that brought him here. He already starts prepping a drink for Tony, something stereotypical, but Tony keeps walking ahead, trying to find Rogers while ignoring all the stares he’s getting. It’s obvious that none of the other middle-aged patrons—ah he suddenly realizes he’s wearing a goddamn suit—venture this far in, where inhibitions are lowered and there’s no such thing as dancing, just sex upright. 

Still no Rogers, and Tony’s disappointed his system has lied to him. He eyes the newly freed, bloodless stool right near the handsome bartender and decides he can use a drink. Tony orders and watches the bartender do a double take, rolling his eyes. 

“Should I feel honoured?” he asks, putting two and two together. He slides the drink over expertly, deft hands having put it together seconds before. 

“Depends,” Tony responds, downing a third in one shot. “I was looking for a friend, but maybe trouble’s what I want.”

The bartender considers this for a moment, before smirking. “Describe your _friend_.”

“He’s 6’2”, blond, blue eyes, muscles on muscles, uptight personality with a great ass, and probably not here,” Tony describes as the other man’s smirk deepens, somehow recognizing the description and knowing full well who is being described. 

The man points to the blond coming out of the bathroom and comments, “You know, everyone knows who Steve is.”

Tony tries to hide his shock at the information that has been revealed to him and instead looks at Rogers. Rogers, who’s in jeans that look like they’ve been stitched onto him for how tight and ass-flattering they are, and a green-gray Henley that shows off every flexing muscle while leaving nothing to the imagination. His hair is messy and tousled in a way that Tony’s never seen in. He can’t make much out, but he can tell that the shirt is buttoned, for hoe the light doesn’t reflect off of them right.

“Steve,” the bartender yells over, which means Tony has to stop staring like a lunatic, “You have a friend looking for you!”

Rogers makes his way over with a smirk, not noticing Tony yet. He laughs casually as he gives the bartender a good natured grin. “Rafi,” he admonishes with a roll of his eyes as he slides sideways in the space between two bar patrons. He leans against the counter with his back to Tony, arm on the table and propping up the left side of his face, still oblivious, and jokingly chides, “Y'know, one of these days you should stop tellin' people to come an' find me. I might start carin' an' chargin' ya for somethin' or another.”

He says it all in a thick Brooklyn accent that Tony never knew Rogers had. Actually, Rogers being this carefree and light, without the stick up his ass and without that permanent scowl was something Tony hasn't even imagined. He thinks he would more sooner believe this was a cheerier, possibly gayer, more carefree and casual clone of Rogers than Rogers himself. Seriously, the sexuality (because why else would Rogers be here at a gay bar like a regular and look so comfortable?) reveal was shocking enough that Tony wondered if he was overthinking it. Maybe Rogers was here as a friend or something... but Tony hadn't even known that Rogers was aware of the mostly accepted LGBTQIA+ community, let alone be someone from the 1940's who accepted it this well. He can't handle this information right now, and—

“Hey,” the bartender protests, throwing a hand up. “I haven't done anything this time.”

“Uh huh,” Rogers says with such amused disbelief that it's hard to even picture what the expression on his face is. “And my _friend_  showed up here randomly, asking specifically for me.” The way he says friend, almost like a double entendre, coupled with his previous words of charging money for people finding him, has Tony's mind spinning with possibilities that are all very, very unlikely. And yet, he can't help but think that Rogers's very presence here is unlikely, why not what else he's thinking? 

“You guessed it in one,” the bartender says, before someone down the left end of the counter calls for him, rather impatiently and rudely. But Tony can't really say he expects any different from the people here; that's the nature of this place. “He's behind you, by the way. You'll recognize him.”

Tony can hear Rogers scoff before he turns around and comes face to face with Tony. The casual, friendly asshole vibe from Rogers completely dissolves into one of a practiced neutrality. He stiffens and tenses so much that Tony realizes how relaxed he was just seconds prior. Because this abrupt transformation, this posture that Rogers is sporting? It isn't anything new to Tony. This is what Tony sees when he looks at Rogers everytime. This is, apparently, a complete lie. 

Wait. Not a lie. 

This is Captain America. 

And Captain America hates Tony Stark just as much as Tony Stark despises Captain America.

Which is why less than a minute later, both of them end up storming down the bar stairs that clearly are marked for employees only, with Rogers fuming and Tony curious. This place is surprisingly clean, albeit a little dark.

“ _What_ are you doing here?” Rogers growls, all but trapping Tony, back up against the closest wall from the stairs. The suit just might be a lost cause at this point if the wall is as _clean_ as the rest of this place. “What the _bloody fucking **hell**_ are you doing here?”

“Looking around,” Tony shrugs, “Wanting a drink, maintaining a low profile, searching for you, finding you, oh you know, basic things.” He tries to steel himself at whatever is about to come next, but he has to face it. When it comes to Rogers, Tony is never prepared, and he's never fully giving as best as he could. He barely manages to give as good as he gets by means of insults and backhanded jabs. 

Rogers's jaw sets as his face darkens and glares at Tony, pinning him better to the wall than any shackles could ever hope to. “Congratulations, you found me. And now you know _Captain America's_  dirty little secret.” His voice is mocking and harsh, especially when it comes to his superhero alter-ego. 

Tony wants to backtrack, backtrack, backtrack faster than he can think or even handle right now. “Fury—”

The blond's expression is icy cold as he snaps, “Don't tell me Fury called me in; he gave me a mandatory two week vacation that's to be obeyed unless aliens attack. Sky's still intact and all, so that isn't it.”

Tony gapes, because he hadn't known that. At all. Huh, that explained why none of them had seen Rogers in over a week. “He d—”

“Where's the tracker that's on me?” Rogers sharply asks, fishing out his phone from his back pocket. “It's yours, isn't it? It has to be yours, never mind, why'd I ask? Tell me where it is.” When he doesn't respond, Rogers's voice increase in volume as he demands, “Tell me where the fuck it is.”

“You're not going to—” Tony starts to say, before Rogers stops him with an impatient hand and shakes his head bitterly, already knowing what he's about to say. 

“Like I said, congratulations. Stupid me of being careless, but I really had thought that you had better things to do than track my life. Was this what you wanted, Stark? My dark scandal?”

That stupid, stupid joke he always made around Rogers. And now it was coming to bite him back. Of course. Tony doesn't know how much of this he can take before he snaps himself and they walk away with more bruises than necessary, and perhaps a broken bone or ten on Tony's part. “Homosexuality isn't a perversion or a crime, Rogers, I think it's time to get up to speed.”

Rogers glances at him incredulously, as if to ask  _can you believe this man_  and then laughs bitterly. “You think I don't know that? But do you really think that _Captain America_ is allowed to be gay? That I'm _allowed_ to be gay?” There it is again; Rogers spitting out Cap like its always left a bad taste in his mouth. 

Tony shrugs. There are worse press incidents and issues than the conservatives coming after Rogers. "Why not? And back then, anyway, you had Carter, right? So you're what, bisexual? Pansexual? Polysexual? Preferring not to put labels? You like women, so I mean, you'll only get yelled at half the—” 

Rogers cuts in sharply. “Don't tell me that I'm half gay, or whatever you're about to say, and don't tell me that I can just date women and get away with liking men as well sometimes. I'm fucking gay and I can't fucking choose to just like girls; I've been trying for the past twenty damned-something years! And if you really don't know why I can't just be out with it, I really don't know what's to tell you, Stark. Thought you were supposed to be smart." 

This is a revelation on top of everything else he's learned today. Unfortunately, he's going to have to table it and focus with the issue at hand: Fury still needs Rogers. 

"What is your problem today? Fury needs you, and we're in what may as well be a bar back alley yelling about your goddamned sexuality that I couldn't care less about right now. You're saying you're off-duty, and he's saying you aren't, so we're going to get this straightened out and then, do whatever. I don't fucking care, Rogers, newsflash!" 

Tony really cannot believe he's being the reasonable one. Nevertheless, Rogers loses some of his tension, and he silently dashes upstairs, leaving Tony downstairs and wondering what the hell kind of day today is. When he finally goes upstairs, Rogers is nowhere to be found and the bartender just gestures out with a glare. Great; he's managed to piss this guy off too, and he made good drinks. 

* * *

For the most part, both Tony and Rogers—he's actually Steve now, since Pepper and Natasha basically forced them to work out a few differences—act like that day never happened. In fact, Tony's has all but physically erased that memory from his mind, had it not been for the fact that he didn't want to forget how Steve took his temper out on Fury. It turned out that Steve had been right about having vacation, and that SHIELD just wanted to make sure he didn't disappear. Basically, it was Fury trying to remind them who's fife they all marched to, except Steve had gone and put a dent in that. 

Steve and Tony aren't friends, not by a long shot and both of them know it. The only things that have changed is that they won't yell at each other every time they talk to each other, and sometimes he'll listen to Steve on the field. Otherwise, they still hate and despise each other to some degree. But, it's possible that in the distant future, they could be friends. Maybe. Everything's still on paper-thin ice. 

So Tony invites Steve to a party he's throwing at the Tower out of good spirit, and Steve accepts it surprisingly, also in good spirit. He didn't even have to say anything to convince Steve to say yes, which really threw him for a loop, considering he had a few things up his sleeve to try and persuade him. Tony'll take it as a win. 

It's maybe nine at night and people are just beginning to have fun and loosen up. There's alcohol flowing freely from the bar that Natasha has ever so graciously offered to work, people talking and laughing everywhere, a game of billiards where Barton would be fleecing the others had they been betting money with how well he's playing, music playing thanks to JARVIS working his coded magic, and everyone having a good time. Except Steve, now that Tony looks around for him like a good host. Because he isn't there, not yet. 

Tony is starting to think that this is maybe why Steve accepted so quickly, had it not been for his eye catching someone coming up the stairs. There he goes. 

That someone happens to be Steve, wearing light wash jeans that are almost even tighter than anything Tony's seen before and a red button-up that could be anywhere from ruby red to maroon with how the light is hitting it. It is also tight-fitting, but it isn't completely ridiculous, and looks just perfect between showing off those muscles and not. Tony wonders just who is in charge of Steve's wardrobe and his outfit choices, and if he wants to send them a thank you basket for helping him move on from khakis and old man plaid. Then again, maybe _this_ isn't also the best for anyone's lust levels, so he doesn't know yet. 

"Tony," Steve greets with a smile, and Tony blinks. He had been staring at the stairs for too long, zoning out for a second. "Sorry I'm late." 

"Yeah," Tony says, because his mind cannot function with how close Steve is to him and how much hotter he looks up close. "That's fine." He makes a prompt exit, lest he lose his cool, and saunters over to Natasha. She already knows what he wants, and he just waits while he thinks. 

Where the hell did these thoughts about Steve come from? Why the fuck does he want to fuck Steve until he couldn't walk right, super soldier or no? What even happened to disliking Steve and taking their glacier-like friendship and actually turning into a friendship? Why does Tony even care? Oh fuck, he cannot be lusting over Steve. 

"Fella done you wrong?" Natasha teases huskily as she slides over his drink. She glances over to Steve, who's chatting with Thor about something involving the little cube in his hand. Thor's, not Steve's. 

Tony flickers his attention over to Natasha, not wanting to be any more obvious, and sends her a seductive smile that both of them know means nothing. "Why don't you do me wrong? I bet it'll feel right." With that stupidly cheesy line, he stifles the urge to grin at himself and break the game Natasha's playing. 

"Seems like you're real broken up over him," Natasha says, glancing over at Steve again. Damn, she's not going to let this one go until he leaves, and maybe not even then. When she looks at Tony, it's to say _go on, keep talking_ , and not _shut up_ , for the first time. "I wouldn't want to squeeze myself in there." 

"He showed up to my party late," Tony sniffs, "Later than fashionably late. That's rude." 

Natasha smiles at him sympathetically. He blanches, wondering what on earth he's done to deserve such a scary thing. Tony shudders as she says, "You're the host; tell him." She's completely dropped her bartender character. He doesn't to know what to think. 

Just as he finishes his drink and plans to talk to Steve, he notices Steve chatting up some brunette (who he really can't see) near the billiards table. Both of them are talking and laughing at the players, and Clint's drunken determination. Tony really doesn't know how Clint's gotten better with a few drinks, but then again, it's also Clint. No one knows. Well, maybe Natasha. Natasha knows everything. 

He realizes he hasn't exactly left Natasha at the bar yet, so she follows his gaze to Steve and rolls her eyes. "And to think everyone says he's awful at flirting." She sounds a little pissed off, and he immediately can tell that Steve's thwarted all of her matchmaking plans for him just by virtue of being his unique self. He grins and wonders if she knows she's probably been looking at the wrong gender. 

"Who's that?" Tony asks, pointing to the brunette. 

"Maria," Natasha responds without missing a beat. When Tony doesn't say anything in frozen shock, she says, " _I know_." 

"That's Hill? Hardass Hill? Like, Deputy Director Maria Hill?" He probably looks like a fish with all of his gaping, but it's fine. What's not fine is that Maria Hill is laughing and grinning with Steve Rogers of all people. 

"Yes," Natasha says, somehow in a mood to acknowledge all of his stupid antics. He's not going to ask about that either. "Yes, that is." 

"Okay," Tony slowly says. "That's-that's good for her." 

"Mm," Natasha wrinkles her nose. "They're not going to be anything more than friends."

 _Yeah_ , Tony wants to say, _that's because Steve's not into women_. Instead, he says, "I wasn't saying they were going to date."

"Both of them are married to their jobs. And Hill's the type to hook up and dump anyway." This, Tony did not need to know. 

"And what about Steve?" Tony casually asks, wondering if she'll indulge him this. 

"Straight as my hair," she bluntly says, and he realizes she knows, she's known this entire time about Steve and the fact that Tony knew. Her hair is in ruby red ringlets and the farthest thing from being straight. "And no one else knows, so don't you dare share it." 

"Who do you take me for?" Tony asks, offended at the insinuation. "A, no matter how much I don't like him that's a dick move, especially considering how I found out. B, I'm not about to ruin the dreams of millions of women around the world." 

"Okay," Natasha says, considering it in her mind. "Fair." They talk a little bit more, but break off when Natasha's suddenly busy with her actual role of today. 

But as the party winds down somewhere near midnight, somewhere near one, and he's gliding across the room, checking up and socializing seamlessly, he notices something strange. When he looks at Natasha, who's subtly staring at the same thing with a hint of curiosity, he goes over to her again. Seems like they were wrong, or Steve wasn't telling the full truth. 

"They're definitely going to fuck, right?" Tony asks with a need for confirmation. "I'm not seeing that wrong?" 

"Yes," Natasha responds, blinking. "They are." 

"Hmm," is all Tony says. 

" _I know_ ," Natasha sighs, and Tony can't help but agree with her. 

* * *

Tony spends the next weeks hiding from Steve every time Steve wears tight clothing, but he definitely does _not_ spend the time wondering about his sexuality. Or the fact that Steve had showed up to the mandatory team meeting late and a little disheveled, promptly ending any and all debates about his virginity, but sparking new ones about _when_ he had lost it. Fury was basically not at all amused, but then Tony had made a remark about the last time _Fury_ had gotten laid, and that was that. Hill showed up fifteen minutes later than Steve, but she looked perfectly put together while holding a cup of SHIELD café coffee, which he knew took a minimum of twenty minutes to receive. Huh. She was good. 

Of course, he can't avoid Steve forever, or even at all now that they’re vaguely friends. For one, the jobs that they have make it impossible for that to happen. And for another, Steve is a goddamn stubborn bastard with no sense of social cues. Okay, maybe he does have social cues; it’s just that he doesn’t know anything about Tony. Nothing. 

Does Steve really need to drag Tony out of his workshop every single time he comes to the Tower? No. Does Steve really need to bodily life Tony out of said workshop when Tony doesn’t come voluntarily? No. Does Steve really need to call Pepper every single time the armor fights him off? Does Steve really need to have JARVIS on his side after Pepper bans Tony from using the armor to fight Steve off? No. Does it all happen anyway? Yes. Unfortunately. 

Somehow Steve has gotten it in his head that Tony is incapable of functioning past 36 hours of no sleep. Bastard. What an absolute bastard. Doesn't he know who Tony is? 36 hours is absolutely nothing, and besides, he has things he needs to be doing. And not just because he's trying to avoid Steve. He's on the verge of finalizing the design for Clint's collapsible bow to work with the explosive arrows correctly. 

But thanks to Steve, his work wife Pepper, his science husband Bruce,  his best friend Rhodey, and even Happy (because Steve pulled out all the stops, even after Tony tweaked JARVIS to stop Steve just for tonight) Tony was forced to go to sleep last night. And worst of all, tonight, Tony's kind of thankful he did. Even if Tony spent the first half an hour lying in bed wondering what kind of a relationship name Happy should have. Security bro? Hmm, he is going to have to ask Happy about that.

Because tonight, Tony's at a charity gala that the Maria Stark Foundation is hosting—not to be mistaken for the annual MSFG or any of Tony's parties. Of course, all of the Avengers are now on the roster, as has been the normal for the past few months, but Tony no longer has a need to worry. Thor is off-planet and he's the only one prone to damage things nowadays. Natasha and Clint have made it a competition to charm as many people as possible (which is only good for him) and though it stemmed out of an argument on who has better social skills, Tony isn't going to get in the way of that. Bruce, whenever he comes, always manages to find a fellow scientist or science enthusiast and then spends the entire night talking science. He isn't here tonight though, bowing out thanks to a science conference. Steve, Tony has only worried about once and that was at the initial Avenger's post-Loki press conference because he didn't want to have to be stuck on cleanup PR duty. But after the first one, he had discovered Steve has incredible schmoozing skills, probably gained from being Captain America and being a showgirl. Steve is in no way shy when it comes to people, unlike what his reputation says. 

Though, with the way that Steve is looking like he stepped out of a photoshoot perfectly attractive right now, in that indigo two-piece suit, it isn't hard to see why people flock to him. Seriously, Tony needs to find out whoever does Steve's wardrobe, or even whoever helped him with that suit. It's a necessary task now. Very necessary. 

In fact, with the way Steve looks incredibly confident in that stupid suit, he knows he's probably in the large majority that wants to fuck Steve. The fucker doesn't even have qualms about dancing anymore, even though he did before. As he dances, everyone can't help but notice how his moves are incredibly fluid and precise, just like how he fights. And no, Tony isn't projecting for once; if he looks around, all eyes are quite literally on Steve. Every single time Steve's talks to someone, there's almost always a new check donated. It's incredible, really. 

Tony has no clue what to do. 

Not literally, because on the outside he's talking and laughing with a popular Instagram influencer. On the inside, though, he wonders how he's going to look Steve in the eye without wanting to bang him right there and not picture this. He thinks he was better off when he hated Steve. Except maybe then he would have wanted hate-sex, and that was probably worse. 

Sooner or later, Clint and Natasha drift up to him and he's too used to it to even jump up in surprise. 

"Well, if it isn't my favorite two Avengers," he drawls, managing an exasperated roll of his eyes.

"Nope," Clint says, popping the p and somehow managing to grin over a glass of champagne. Classy, and so much unlike Clint. "We all know your favorites are Bruce and Steve. Because of sex and science."

Tony gasps dramatically. "Has Steve been holding out on science days with Bruce and I? And just because Bruce is my science boyfriend doesn't mean we're fucking. At least I think we aren't. I would know, right? Yeah, I would." 

Clint smirks. Natasha is less than impressed. "Right," she says, voice void of any inflection. "And you're dumber than the Hammer." 

Tony doesn't give anything away, though he knows that doesn't work. "Don't tell me you don't want to fuck him," he bluntly says. Both of them look like they're considering it, and he knows he's won that point. 

"Anyone with eyes wants to fuck him in that suit," Clint bluntly says. "But you want to get him every other time too." 

"Please," Tony scoffs, because Natasha's eyeing him carefully and in a way that makes him a little nervous.

"You'd be his type, too," Clint continues ever so thoughtfully. "Dark, snarky, and smart." 

"Yeah, and male?" Tony bluffs again, because Natasha had said that no one else knew and not to give it away. So he can't say anything. 

Clint blinks. "Buddy," the archer slowly says. "You're really not going to tell me that you haven't noticed that Steve swings the other way, right?" Tony gapes, because since when does Clint know? But Clint takes it the wrong way and frowns. "Oh man, did I just—Tasha! You said that he fucking knew! Jesus fuck, outing someone isn't... that's—”

Tony walks away before Natasha says anything, because he sees one of Pepper's 'must schmooze' guests and they're free for the first time of all of tonight. He's been threatened to go through the list of 'must schmooze' guests on pain of 24 hour days and her alerting both Bruce and Steve. And considering that he doesn't want 24 days or that he doesn't want to see Steve often, he's going to go through it. 

Except for one small problem. 

Steve—bastard—cuts him off halfway and stands right in his way. "I've gotten to her already," he says, making sure that no one else can hear in the middle of the room. "Tough woman, by the way. I didn't think she'd crack." 

Tony gapes for what must be the fifth or sixth time that night. "You did what?" He wasn't even aware that Steve knew about the list, let alone was helping Tony with the list. "She did what?" 

Steve smirks and shakes his head. "Your Pepper-ordained 'must socialize' list. I've been going through a few people who are lower priority on it, but then Lucinda Reyes got me for a dance, so I thought, why not?" He looks like he wants to say something else but, then apparently sees something out of the corner of his eye and then stops talking. 

Tony starts to ask him what made him stop, because all that he can see in that direction is a clock and this isn't Cinderella, but Steve beats him to the point once again. 

"You should dance with me," Steve suggests, a smirk on his face and a very flirtatious look in his eyes that's all but challenging Tony. "As a thank-you, you know. Heard it's the polite thing to do." 

So Tony does, and he's proud to say that he can more than easily hold his own with Steve thanks to all of those dance classes when he was younger. "Why are you suddenly helping me with this?" 

Steve's eyes flicker on him with amusement. "Well, a) it's fun, b) I'm fantastic at it, and c) I don't think I would be able to pry you out of your lab every 24 hours, JARVIS and Pepper or not." Suddenly the song changes and he realizes that although the music doesn't call for any 'scandalous' dances, they call for some that involve bodies pressed very close to each other. And Steve doesn't look like he's letting go anytime soon. 

"Where did you learn how to dance?" Tony asks, because he's been dying to find out where Captain Save The Dance has had time and the ability to learn. He couldn't ask before, because that would ean admitting that he's been watching Steve dance, but now he can. "You're not half bad." 

"Not half-bad, huh?" Steve counters with a smirk that says he doesn't believe Tony. Leaning in a little closer, he whispers, "You're going to have to try a lot harder if you want answers with compliments like that." 

"That's not an answer," Tony points out stubbornly, following Steve's lead on the waltz (waltz?) as the song style changes. 

"And that's not the right question," Steve smirks again. "When did I learn to dance, on the other hand..."

That was an answer in itself for how telling it was. "Nineteen forty-something? Thirty-something? It can't be twenty-something, you would have been eleven at best." He pauses. 

"Bucky loved dancing. Bucky loved taking me on double dates that involved dancing. I loved dancing. And I also loved going to clubs all around Brooklyn and finding people to dance with," Steve's face lit up a little at the mention of it, like a man who wished he could go back, and like a man who seemed to be reminiscing past naïveté. "Nineteen thirty-something, yeah." 

"Can you...," Tony pauses dramatically, "Do the Lindy Hop?" 

"Yes," Steve says unashamedly. "And don't you dare even ask, because I'm not doing it." Damn, and just when Steve had been entertaining him and his stupid question this night. Tony wanted to press his luck elsewhere. 

"Modern dance? Are you caught up there?" he asks. "Or is are the worlds of hip-hop and contemporary confusing?" 

"Dance is a great workout," Steve recites, and from where Tony doesn't know. "So yes, I'm trying to catch up. Ballet is something, though. Real hard stuff, and I don't have the exact body type for it. Tap is fine, tap is good. Jazz is fun, unless I mess up. That happens a lot." He makes a face at himself.

And just when Tony can't be anymore surprised by the fact that Steve sometimes does ballet and tap, he says, "But the salsa! Tango! Samba, rumba, jive, bolero, those are all lively!" His excited face changes into one of amusement when he continues on with, "And then someone at the place I go to tried to tell me that I should learn how to belly dance. I'm starting to wonder if everyone thinks that I don't know what I'm doing." 

As he says that, Steve pulls Tony into an elaborate Left Whisk that most people can't even recognize is a waltz step, unless they see it in the context of a waltz. He has to hand it to Steve for making a point boldly. 

"Who are you showing off to?" Tony asks slyly, starting his eyes around to try and see if Steve will blush at the insinuation. "Is there someone you're trying to impress?" 

Steve's eyes darken with a challenge, and the smirk (only this time it knows something, but what?) returns like it never disappeared into a light smile. He glances in the direction of the clock again, but doesn't seem to lay any attention to it as he looks at Tony again. "You're the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, you tell _me_." 

"You're not denying it," Tony observes. "So there is someone. You know, you've been dancing a long time with me. Are you trying to play a jealousy card? Doesn't work too often, you know. Especially when you're with me; because then they'll think you're mine for the night." 

"No," Steve says, amused. "I don't quite think they'll mind at all." 

"Can we play 20 questions on who it is, then?" Tony asks, because Steve is indulging him this when he's _never_  done so before. Steve nods, almost seeming to shrug, even though he really can't. "Female or male?" 

"Male." 

"Are they aware of—”

"That I'm gay? Yes," Steve dryly says. 

"It's not Clint, is it?" Tony asks with a sudden growing horror. "Because Clint knows." 

"What? No! No. But yes, I do know that Clint knows. It's hard not for me to know that Clint knows." 

"Why?" 

"I'm counting that, by that way," Steve says, rolling his eyes, "But he knows because he caught me out on a date." 

"You were out on a date? Ooh, Rogers, do tell," Tony teases. 

"I think Thor would have liked him better," Steve says, wrinkling his nose at the memory. "More of a feast and fuck type. I thought it was a causal hookup, and then he brought me to a local restaurant from his apartment, so I was wondering if he wanted to date, but then we went back to his apartment and then I realized it wasn't so... that's five questions by the way." 

"Is this guy wearing black?" 

Steve raises an eyebrow, eyes him with a speculative look, and then answers, "Nope." 

"Is it a unique color he's wearing?" 

"The particular shade of his clothes is a little off from anyone else, but many would say it's a fairly common color," Steve says with a complete straight-face, and then Tony remembers two things. A, Steve has really good serum-enhanced eyes, and B, Steve is also an artist, so he knows what to do with all that sensory information.

"That's bullshit," Tony says, because what else is he going to respond to that? "Can you just give me a straight answer? Come on." 

"No, it's technically not unique to this room."

"Alright, so he doesn't stand out too much, then, in this crowd." Tony realizes that's not a question, so he tacks on, "Right?"

"No, he stands out plenty," Steve grins. "I don't think a lot of people have been able to take their eyes off of him."

 _Funny_ , Tony thinks, _I could say the same about you_. 

"I think I'll let go of you for now," Steve says as Tony realizes that this song, whatever it is, is winding down. "Come find me if you've got another question. Promise I'll answer." He winks at Tony lavishly, and then they part ways, with Steve going to find a new dance partner, and Tony finding someone new to schmooze. Though really, they're both doing the same thing. "You have eleven questions left."

Tony spends the next few hours doing just that, going around but popping in on Steve whenever both of them have a spare minute. He's never realized how much fun this is, and how much time he spends on Steve's Q&A. The mini stories that come with some of the answers are endearing, or laughable, and he tries to ask questions so he'll get an answer and a story. Unfortunately, he exhausts his questions (though he finds that he wasn't really trying somewhere around Question #14) and Steve merely shakes his head with the mischievous, knowing smirk. 

But at the end of the gala, when all has been said and done, Steve leaves alone, and Tony hasn't really seen him in the company of an unattached man for too long.

Oh, Steve is good. 

* * *

Natasha and Clint have a priority as SHIELD agents, and this Tony knows. He has a priority to Stark Industries. Bruce has one to his science. Thor has one to Asgard. They all have day jobs. So what does Steve have? Captain America isn't a day job.

"Caltain America is a day job," Steve says when he comes to pick Tony up from his lab because Tony has apparently spent too many hours in here without real food and sleep. "It's not my priority in the sense that it's yours, but it is a priority and a day job." 

"Then what do you do?" Tony asks, completely puzzled. "And in what sense are you talking about?" 

"It's a priority in the sense that most people don't think Steve when they see me, but Captain America," Steve dryly says, a hint of a fond smirk dancing around his words. "And it's a day job because I spend every other day at SHIELD or some government as Captain America, or out somewhere doing Captain-like things." 

"Captain-y things? What captain-y things?"

"Things like visiting hospitals, talking to kids at schools, raising awareness for things like the VA and other causes. I mean, those are the good parts of the job, but they are part of the job. Just as much as talking to the WSO and worldwide governments on how the Avengers are not a threat. Or on how someone's needs to take responsibility for allowing the Mandarin's influence to spread and the nuke on Manhattan." When Tony stares at Steve like Steve has grown a second head, because wow, what the _fuck_ , Steve sighs. "Also because I'm technically a SHIELD agent. Just on undetermined leave." 

"You could have led with that," Tony yawns, blinking at himself. 

"Come on," Steve says. "There's no way you're not sleeping within the next hour." 

"You know what?" Tony frowns, pinching himself and reaching for the nearest coffee cup. 

"Chicken butt," Steve shamelessly quips, before walking in and then unapologetically picking Tony up. All of Tony's attempts to break away go ignored and unsuccessful. Steve doesn't even wince.

"You know, I like manhandling as much as the next kinky person, but if it happens, I really want some sex to go with it," Tony says. 

"Well, we are headed towards your bedroom," Steve says as the elevator doors open and he steps in. "For something that's probably better for you than sex." 

"Blasphemy." 

"What's blasphemous to everyone else is your weird ability to not sleep in days just or the fun of it." 

Tony boos at Steve when the doors open and Steve unceremoniously brings Tony to his bedroom and dumps him there. Not literally, but close enough. 

"You're already tired, and JARVIS won't let you out of your suite or in the reach if anything vaguely interesting until you go to bed."

"Last time you did this was the gala! That was three days ago!" 

"A week ago, Tony. That was a week ago." 

"Oh." A few seconds later, while he's thinking about it, he says, "Goodnight, I guess."

* * *

The Avengers have all been invited to some governor's (senator's?) party that Fury makes them all go to, on pretense of staying on their favorable side. Tony hates it, hates this, hates that he couldn't even put up a fight because Fury had left before he got a word in. Lucky Thor; Thor always seems to miss the boring Avengers PR events. 

But since he isn't Thor and he doesn't have another real choice, he finds himself mingling around and talking to various governors and senators and representatives and lawmakers who he hasn't even heard of before, most of them. Well, then and many influential people, most of whom were at the charity gala. Tony's starting to realize why Fury really sent them all here as the titles all fly through his head. Looking around at Natasha, Steve, and Bruce, he sees that they're all realizing the same thing. 

Tony smiles and says goodbye to the latest couple and then goes to find Steve, who he thinks might make this night less painful.

"Tony," Steve says, a hint of a question lacing his words. 

"I'm bored," Tony says. "Entertain me. Let's do 20 questions again."

Steve laughs. "You lost last time. Eager to do it again?"

"Number One: Is there someone you like at this little shindig?" 

There it is again, the oddly dry look that Steve gives Tony that Tony can't understand. " _Yes_."

"By any chance, the same guy as before?"

"Yes."

"Ooh. Now we're talking, Rogers. Okay, hmm, do you know if this guy has any kind of an interest in you?" 

"Yeah, I know he does." 

"I didn't think you were the type to play chicken, Rogers. If I win, I feel like you should go find this guy.”

Steve's face lights up in a devious gleam as he says, "Oh, I think I will."

"Brunette, blond, redhead, noirette, what?"

"Brunette."

"Tall?"

"I think he's the average height for a guy."

"You're basically describing Clint."

"Why are you bringing up Clint again? He's not... no, just no."

Tony looks around as discretely as he can and finds that no one meets the criteria that he already knows of. "Are you sure that you're not lying to me? Because there's no one here that I can see." 

"Are you sure you aren't deliberately fucking with me? Because I refuse to believe you've thought of everyone and come up blank."

"Well, the only two people left I can't really see are you and me, and it can't be you, and it can't be—”

He stops. Flounders. Stares. 

"Now that you've figured it out," he hears Steve saying with a wink, "Come find me after this."

So he does. 

* * *

Tony wakes up in his bed, alone and just a little sore. 

"Hey J, where's Steve?"

"Captain Rogers is currently in Washington D.C. for SHIELD. His new assignment begins today."

He never sees the note fallen onto the floor, written in flowing blue cursive explaining to him that Steve has to go, but that he will drop by as soon as he can to talk if Tony doesn't want a phone call. 

He never remembers that Steve had told him before that last night was going to be his last in NYC.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. I know. Please do leave a comment and/or kudos! If you'd like to send me prompts, just email me at andathousandyearsmore@gmail.com!


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